He didn’t feel the blade enter, but he heard the crowd’s cries of amazement, as if from far away. The lad was so close to Oknhammer now that the giant could simply reach out and crush him – wrap his big arms about the miserable wretch, and squeeze the life from his puny bones. He would enjoy hearing the sound of cracking ribs accompanied by the boy’s screams. But Frindr’s arms would not move. His hands and legs and head refused to obey, and the blackness that had started at the edge of his vision swiftly swam in to blot out the world forever.

The giant figure of Oknhammer fell backwards, and then he lay, unmoving, on the blood-stained dirt.

Lann looked down at the body of the man he had killed.

The sword repeated its warning one last time before falling mute again. The crowd, too, was hushed now. The only sound to break the stunned silence was the sobbing tears of the victor before his knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground.

Fleya was the first to reach him. Drawing her nephew into her arms, she managed to get him back to his feet, shaking her head at the others who tried to come to his aid. She could feel his pain, feel the waves of sadness and despair leaching out of him, so that his hurt became her own. Supporting the full weight of him, she looked at the black blade at their feet, and knew there was no way she could bring herself to touch the thing. In the end, it was the red-robed priest who retrieved the weapon, carefully wiping it on the hem of his costume before replacing it in the scabbard at the boy’s side.

Fleya straightened up to her full height and called for silence.

‘This,’ she said, nodding down at the dead figure of Oknhammer, ‘is your proof of Erik Rivengeld’s innocence.’ Turning her head, she eyed all those present. ‘Does anybody here doubt that? Does anybody here wish to speak out in defiance of the gods and what they have shown you here today?’ She waited, and although she’d addressed the crowd, her eyes were now firmly fixed on Glaeverssun, as if daring him to be the one to speak. ‘No? Then I suggest you arrange for King Erik and the princess to be escorted back to the great hall so he might get on with the business of ruling Stromgard and his people.’

Vissergott

21

Kelewulf stared out of the window of the tower at the waves crashing into the shoreline far below. The storm was waning now, but the sea still battered the land, throwing great white plumes into the air as it did so. He marvelled at the relentless power of the ocean.